Oblivion - Debt Collector 13 (A Jack Winchester Thriller)

by Jon Mills

  A figure stepped into view, just slightly off to his right, close enough that he could see him — a little under six foot, similar to Jack in age, athletic in appearance but filling out the navy blue suit — a full head of dark hair swept back, no product in it. There was a scar on the left side of his face just below his shades. The man removed them and Jack’s eyes widened. He was at a loss for words because his mind was trying to comprehend. No. It couldn’t be. It was impossible.

  “Incredible thing, isn’t it?” he said running his hands over the machine beside the bed. “I thought they had stopped electroconvulsive therapy back when they decommissioned asylums but it seems that’s not the case.” He glanced at Jack. “What’s that saying, Jack? That’s right. If it’s not broken, don’t fix it.” He looked back at the machine with glee and fiddled with the dials and leads sticking out of it. “One hundred and eighty to four hundred and sixty volts pass through the human brain for a tenth of a second to six seconds.” He touched Jack’s face. “From temple to temple or front to back. Can you imagine what that must feel like?” He flipped on a switch and the machine let out a hum. “You know how many years it’s been since we last saw each other?”

  He removed the mouthguard from Jack’s mouth.

  “It’s impossible. You’re dead,” Jack said.

  “No, I’m very much alive. I wish I could say the same though for the lovely Dana. Wow, now that was a loss.”

  Jack cursed and clenched his jaw as he struggled within the restraints. Through gritted teeth he said, “When I get out of here. I’m…”

  In a slow, methodical tone Angelo replied, “Calm down, Jack, calm down. You’ll go into shock.” He laughed and shook his head. “Oh, you know how badly I wanted to end you after that night on the dock. But I waited for the right time.” He chuckled. “By the way. Nice job with my old man. I always knew his day would come and I can’t think of someone better to have ended him than you. I was right about him, wasn’t I, Jack?”

  “Let me out of here.”

  “Oh, you’re not going anywhere, Jack. I know you must think this is the end of the road with the loss of Dana and all but it’s not. It’s just the beginning of pain. The beginning of paying back what you did to me.” He paused. “Do you know what it’s like to feel freezing cold water enter your lungs as you sink into blackness? No, you couldn’t. But I do. Fortunately I had a feeling you were on to me. That’s why I took measures to ensure my survival. I knew you wouldn’t shoot me. Bullets were never your thing back then, were they, Jack? The knife, water, now that was a form of torture only the Butcher of New York could appreciate.”

  He breathed in deeply and walked around the bed. “I was meant to end him — my father, I mean. But no, you took away that opportunity, my future, and any hope of taking what was mine. I was going to kill you but you wound up in Rikers.” He shook his head. “Prison. You survived that. That was just a walk in the park for you, wasn’t it, Jack? And still, even after that, he took you back. But me? I was left to fight for every inch of what I have today. We were friends, Jack.”

  “Friends? You turned. Went in a different direction. I told you not to do it. I warned you but you wouldn’t listen.”

  “My father would have never stepped down.”

  “You don’t know that,” Jack shot back at him. “I know that there were other ways to get where you wanted. You crossed the line. I did what I had to.”

  “As did I,” he bellowed back. “As did I, Jack.”

  “Those were different times. I was a different person back then. I paid my debt.”

  “Different? Paid your debt?” He laughed. “The Butcher of New York can change. Is that what you believe? Did Eddie tell you that? Or was it Dana?” He paused and shook his head. “Helping others. You think that makes it all better? Huh?” He laughed. “You self-righteous bastard. Nothing you will ever do will wash the blood from your hands. That includes mine.” He brought a hand up to his face and touched the scar that Jack had given him with a knife. “But if you want to cleanse your soul I will help you, Jack.” He pointed to the walls. “How do you think you ended up here? Huh?” He stared into his eyes. All Jack could see was darkness. The same reflection he once had. Nothing. No compassion. No remorse.

  Jack narrowed his gaze at him. “You?”

  “Oh c’mon. They would have thrown you in prison to rot but we all know how that ends. Good behavior and you would be out on the streets in twenty years. No. Do you know how bad the pay is here and what people will do for a little cash?” He grabbed the mouthguard and forcefully shoved it back into Jack’s mouth. “You and I. It isn’t over. It’s only getting started. Welcome to hell, Jack.” Angelo reached over and lifted a headset with sponges on the ends. He set it down on Jack’s temples as he thrashed, then turned the dial up beyond the designated number of volts.

  Jack’s screams were muffled by the mouthguard as his body arched and convulsed.

  5

  That morning, psych tech Seth Everett along with other staff members had been tasked with finding the shank used in the murder of Nurse Harvey. A preliminary search on the day of the incident had turned up zilch, so a full unit lockdown had been scheduled while all patients were in the courtyard. It wasn’t uncommon for guilty individuals to hide a shank in another patient’s room to avoid getting caught. So, under the air-raid siren of the alarm system, and flashing strobe lights, twelve hospital cops and a few staff members entered rooms and turned them upside down. Dresser drawers were thrown to the floor, mattresses flipped, door hinges checked, baseboards and light fixtures searched. Clothes and books were shaken out as these were all common hiding spots. No one had seen what Tyler Sutton had used and he refused to say, all they knew was when they finally subdued him he had nothing on him. That led them to believe he’d stashed it in the day room or handed it to another patient who disposed of it.

  “So it was a knife?” Hanna asked Seth.

  “Probably not,” he said as he flipped over a mattress. “You don’t need to stab a person to kill them in here, it just needs to cut them. Her throat was slit. They’ll use anything in here, door hinges filed down, eyeglass stems, even typing paper folded into a point and coated in sugar water to harden it.”

  She nodded and he could see she was beginning to question taking the position. Everyone did. The turnover in state hospitals was high. It wasn’t burnout but violence. They weren’t allowed to fight back and in an environment that was every bit as deadly as a prison minus guards, the chance of patients kicking off was high. It was a daily event.

  A dog brushed past Seth’s leg. It was one of three that were used to sniff each closet, bed and clothes. They certainly made the staff’s job a hell of a lot easier. Patients were very creative in hiding their stash. One of the dogs started howling and scratching a section of loose baseboard. A cop used a knife to pry it back. There, in the corner of the room, hidden inside a hole was a baggie of pills. The same ones they gave out every day — Haldol, Zyprexa, Risperdal, Trazodone and Seroquel.

  The search continued, turning up cigarettes and alcohol, but no shank.

  At some point Hanna asked Seth to go to the nursing station and switch off the alarm. As he made his way down several corridors he passed by the ECT unit and just happened to see Jack out the corner of his eye. The door was ajar, his back was arched and there was no one in there. Reacting fast, he burst into the room and turned off the machine. His body sank down on the bed and Seth removed the headset and took out the mouthguard.

  “Help!” Seth yelled but the noise of the alarm was too loud. Dashing out, he continued through one more door until he was at the nursing station. He switched off the screaming alarm, the flashing lights stopped and he got on the phone to alert the others. Not waiting for them to show up, he hurried back to the ECT room. Jack was out cold. He was still breathing but there was no telling what damage had been done. Frothy drool trickled out the corner of his mouth and his fingers were still spasming. The distant sound of boots poundin
g linoleum flooring was loud. Nurse Cross was the first in the door followed by one other tech and Nurse Byrd.

  Seth spat the words. “I found him here. Someone had left the machine on. It was cranked up high.”

  “Who ordered this?” Cross asked, moving across the room to check the chart that usually had dates, times and a list of patients’ names. Winchester wasn’t on there. Byrd shrugged. Nurse Cross took charge and began checking Jack’s vitals, while Seth removed the restraints. She bellowed out medical terminology that he wasn’t familiar with and shone a light in his eyes. He was alive but wasn’t responding. Byrd hurried down to Dr. Chapman’s office and within minutes the place was swarming with cops, the doc and several curious staff members.

  It didn’t take long for a paramedic crew to arrive with a gurney and carry board. They went to work on him.

  “You want to tell me what is going on in this place?” she asked Chapman.

  “Ms. Cross. Calm down. Come down to my office.” He made a gesture to Byrd and several techs assisted the medics in lifting Jack off the bed and carrying him out. Seth looked on in horror, unable to believe what he’d just witnessed. The ECT room was often used, but at all times patients were monitored by staff and no one was left alone with the machine on.

  He watched as Dr. Chapman led Nurse Cross down the corridor and around a corner. He stepped out to find Porter and Jenkins looking on. Jenkins had this grin on his face as if he knew something or found pleasure in the situation.

  “You know about this?” Seth asked. “As one of the security guards saw you guys dragging him in from the courtyard.”

  Jenkins got up in his face. “We brought him in because he was found to have cocaine on him,” he said taking a baggie out of his pocket and dangling it. “He was locked in his room while we went and spoke with Chapman.”

  “Then how did he get out?”

  Porter threw up his hands and shrugged.

  Seth nodded. “Well I’ll be sure to mark this down.”

  Jenkins got closer. “You do that. You do that,” he said repeating himself.

  He took Seth’s wrist and turned it and dropped the bag into his hand. “And while you’re at it, be sure to hand that over to Chapman. Sorry, I forgot.”

  “You forgot?”

  “That’s what I said, didn’t I?”

  He gave Seth a menacing look before they strolled off towards the courtyard, leaving him with questions. He’d worked with both of them for several months and heard stories of their abuse but had yet to witness it. Two years ago, Jenkins nearly lost his job after accusations were brought against him that he had beaten up a patient. When asked if it was true he said it was false and dropped the names of a few patients who he believed had committed it. Of course it never went any further than that. Seth looked at the bag of white powder in his hand, he squeezed it like a hacky sack before heading off to turn it over to Dr. Chapman for disposal.

  Chapman looked unconcerned as he poured a cup of coffee and offered Hanna one.

  “You’re making a mountain out of a molehill, Ms. Cross.”

  She stabbed her finger at the floor feeling her temperature rise. In all her years in the ER she’d seen mistakes made, and even witnessed the bullying of patients, but had never seen such negligence. “A few minutes too late and Mr. Winchester may have died. God knows, if he will even come back from this! You want to tell me how that happens?”

  “Watch the accusing tone, Ms. Cross. Remember who you are speaking with.” He took a seat with his coffee and leaned back. “We will get to the bottom of it but I can’t have you out there losing your cool. It’s unprofessional and we hired you because you came with good recommendations. Understand that I spoke on your behalf, went to bat for you when the director of the hospital wanted to hire someone else. Don’t make me regret that decision.”

  She knew he was bullshitting and pulling a power move. Chapman had nothing to do with her hire. She had dealt with human resources, not him.

  Cross pointed to the door. “Let’s not make this about me. Someone is responsible for strapping him to that bed.”

  “Any patient could be responsible.”

  “They were all in the yard.”

  “Ms. Cross, you’ll discover very quickly around here that patients are very resourceful. I like to think of them like kids. You know they’re up to mischief and sometimes you catch them but sometimes you don’t.” He shrugged as if it was no big thing. “Patients show up with black eyes, broken limbs, cuts and are even found unconscious — it’s the nature of running an establishment that suffers from government cutbacks.”

  “Well surely there are cameras. Someone would have seen this.”

  “Cameras?” He laughed. “That would be a luxury. Do you know how long we have been advocating for them to install cameras in this place?” He pointed to the door. “Go. Go take a look outside. You’ll find there are none. But understand this, it’s not because we don’t want them. I have bent over backwards and had this discussion with the powers that be for the better part of the last three years. Now we are making progress but it’s slow. In the meantime we do the best we can.”

  “And by best you mean, allow staff to hook up patients and shock them to within an inch of their life?”

  “Careful,” he said pointing at her and setting his cup down. “I won’t warn you again.”

  She took a deep breath and tried to reel in her anger that was getting the better of her. It was one thing to witness a fight, another to see a breakdown in order. Order was all they had in a place like this. Lose that and it was a free-for-all.

  Hanna placed a hand on her hip and then brought it up to her face and ran it over her jaw. “Someone brought him in. He was outside. I saw him in the courtyard before the alarm went off.”

  “That’s right. I asked for him to be brought in.”

  Her brow furrowed. “You?”

  “It was brought to my attention that our friend Mr. Winchester has been distributing contraband. I had two of our guys bring him in and perform a strip search as his room had turned up nothing.”

  There was a knock at the door and both of them looked through the window. Chapman beckoned in Seth. He stepped in with a bag of white powder in his hand. “Jenkins asked me to give you this, said it was from Winchester, said he forgot?” He sounded as if he was unconvinced.

  “Ah, thank you, Seth.” He took it and cast a sideways glance at Hanna, his lip curling at the corner as if validating his story. Seth looked at Hanna and then went out and closed the door behind him.

  “As you can see, Ms. Cross,” Chapman said, “there is a lot for you to learn here. Forget everything you learned at the ER. It will do you no good here. This place is a lot more fluid. Which means you need to be flexible and learn to flow with the changes and believe me, they happen every day.” Chapman opened a drawer and put the bag inside before closing and locking it. “Winchester already has a history of meth use. We expected this.”

  “But he hasn’t had a visitor.”

  “What?”

  “I looked at the chart for patients earlier this morning. There is no history of him having any visitors so how did he come into possession of that?”

  Chapman’s confident smile faded. He was back on the stand having to give an account. Hanna was curious to see how he would respond.

  “You’ve never worked in a forensic hospital, have you, Ms. Cross?”

  “No.”

  “Then you wouldn’t be familiar with the kind of security we have or the methods used by patients in sneaking in contraband. And why is that?”

  “Because my job doesn’t require me to know.”

  “Exactly. Your job is to manage, assess and supervise. Our security are the ones that prevent contraband from coming in. They do a very good job of it but like anything, nothing is bulletproof. Perhaps he swallowed it before arrival, but more than likely it was sold to him by someone else in the hospital who has a system of getting it in through a visitor. What matters to me
is that you focus on your job. You go putting on a detective hat, trying to figure out how, what, and when, and your job will suffer and I can’t have that. Am I clear?”

  “Yes.”

  “Well I’m glad we had that conversation. Any other questions?”

  She hesitated for a second, a number of questions came to mind but asking them would only get a rise out of him. The fact was, under the noise of the siren and the distraction of the unit search, it would have been very possible for anyone to have strapped Winchester to that bed, but not anyone could have had access to the floor since all the patients were outside and accounted for. That left her wondering about the staff. “None that I can think of right now,” she said.

  “Good. Then it’s best you return to your duties.”

  She gave a nod and headed for the door. Hanna paused with her hand on the handle. “Dr. Chapman, how did Nurse Harvey end up in the day room alone with Sutton that day?”

  “Sorry?” he asked looking up from his paperwork.

  She turned. “Well one of the rules was that no staff member can be alone with a patient. Two staff members must be with them at all times. I can’t imagine Nurse Harvey, someone who had worked here for many years, breaking that rule. I was just curious as to how she might have ended up in the day room without a second nurse or psych tech?”

  Chapman set his pen down and stared right at her. “People make mistakes, Ms. Cross. Just be sure you don’t make the same one.” And with that he returned to his work.

  6

  Arriving that evening, Dalton had been concerned he would run into Kelly Armstrong. After landing at Adirondack Regional Airport, he caught a taxi to his lodgings. There wasn’t a wide choice of motels in the small town of Ray Brook, four to be specific. He opted for Moreno’s Cottages just off Route 86 to avoid bumping into the reporter. They were surprisingly clean and affordable.

  Pastor Mark Boone had asked Dalton to meet at a local diner for lunch the next day, so he was up at the crack of dawn seeking guidance from God.